


satellite

by wastrelwoods



Series: where the heart is [5]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Canon Trans Character, Frottage, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Other, Reunion Sex, domesticity abounds folks!, god.....look at these boys they're in love! gay people invented love and its real, the rumor come out: does peter nureyev is gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 18:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12776916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastrelwoods/pseuds/wastrelwoods
Summary: It's an unfamiliar thing, this strange consistency.





	satellite

Peter drifts back to Mars with half a million in recently acquired emeralds sewn into the lining of his coat and Juno's name lingering sweet in his mouth. Hyperion from the spaceport looms huge and brilliant through its shimmering opalescent dome. A skyline that great poets past have only dreamed of capturing with words. 

But the beauty of it, in Peter's eyes, runs far below the surface. There are a very few places in the universe that have the ability to draw him back again, like a lodestone to the iron pumping in his veins. But then, there are a very few people who can light up a skyline like this brighter than a star just by inhabiting a place. Just by being there for Peter to return to, and see them standing there the same as the day he left. 

It's an unfamiliar thing, this strange consistency, and Peter takes a moment to steady himself before he steps down off the ramp and touches ground. 

There's always a little lurch, returning to the firm embrace of gravity after a weightless journey on one of the mainline space cruisers, but Peter, ever the romantic, likes to imagine there's something inherently more solid about the red dust that packs the earth beneath his feet. Something stable. Something unchanging. 

Juno's hovering awkwardly by the baggage claim, his hands thrust into his pockets and his shoulders drawn high and close as under his coat, scanning the crowd with a piercing gaze that seems to roam lazily but doesn't fail to pick Peter out of the background the second he begins his approach. Peter grins at him, sharp and guileless, while Juno's eye widens and his brow furrows. "Your changed your hair," he grumbles. 

Peter laughs, and wraps an arm around his waist. "I thought it was high time for something new. Besides, I've been told red suits me. Do you like it, darling?" 

He pulls Juno close and kisses him, slow but chaste, a soft reminder of all he's missed in his weeks away. Rough, scarred fingers wrap around his scarf to pull him in closer, and then let him go again when Juno pulls away to mutter a quiet, "Black's better." 

Peter can feel his grin turn softer as another laugh bubbles up in his throat, and he lingers, not quite ready yet to leave the embrace. "Well, if you insist, Juno, I suppose I could suffer dyeing it back again. It was pure necessity, I assure you. Jet Royal required a bit of extra flare, and diamonds just wouldn't do."

"You're not allowed to talk to me about stolen jewels," Juno says firmly, as he pulls away to take Peter's luggage from his hand. 

It's an old argument, the edges of it worn soft enough that Juno knows Peter's merely teasing when he pulls an affronted face at the idea. "What do you take me for, darling? I worked tirelessly for every gem, dearest, blood and sweat and tears."

"Yeah, well, most people just pay in creds these days," Juno tells him, sternly, as they stroll back to the car arm in arm. 

They have the routine argument about the state of the vehicle on the drive back to the city proper -- Juno's missing a tail light and one of the back windows is jammed in the half-open position, letting dust blow freely into the backseat. Peter turns his nose up and calls it a 'death trap' with playful contempt, and all the while his fingers keep dancing over Juno's thigh, his eyes lingering on the curve of Juno's lips and the line of his jaw. 

And after that comes the routine argument about being seen walking together to Juno's apartment, which Peter graciously lets him win this time around, on the basis that anyone walking by is unlikely to recognize him with his hair a deep red and his glasses changed for a pair of gray tinted contacts. And besides, he's not in the mood to wait behind and scale the side of the building so soon after his legs have re-adjusted to the planet's gravity. 

Juno locks the front door and kicks a small mountain of unread mail out of the way, and Peter makes his rounds, sliding various weapons and papers and a sewing kit and a compass from the pockets of his coat into their appropriate hidey-holes. Juno hasn't begrudged him yet the way he's made a safe-house of the dingy apartment, though he did ask Peter to stop storing knives between the couch cushions. He doesn't know in quite the same way Peter does how it feels to secure a place and leave it and return again to find it unchanged and familiar and entirely safe, but he knows just the same that it's important to him. 

Peter kicks off his shoes and hangs his jewel-lined coat in the closet, shrugs out of his pantsuit and plucks the contacts from his eyes, whistles softly to himself until the gentle shuffling of Juno's feet the next room over catches his attention. Peter steps into a pair of Juno's boxers and slips on his silk robe, and patters quietly back out to the kitchen. 

He's digging through the empty cupboards with an air of frustration, but stills the moment Peter's arms wrap around him from behind, lips pressed to the nape of his neck. "Trying to seduce me?" Juno asks him, his voice strained as one of Peter's hands slips under the hem of his shirt. 

"That depends," Peter tells him, playfully, and runs his teeth over Juno's skin, relishing the hoarse gasp he gets in return. "Is it working?"

With a slightly exasperated sigh, Juno turns in his embrace and reaches up to pull him into a kiss tinged with whiskey. "Was planning to make you a welcome-home dinner," he grumbles, "But if you'd rather skip straight to dessert--"

"I've been told I have an incorrigible sweet tooth," Peter tells him, and presses him back against the counter, slipping one of his legs between Juno's thighs and kissing him deeper. 

A month away hasn't changed the way Juno sighs when Peter's teeth catch his lower lip, and he suspects no length of time or distance however great ever could. His mouth is soft and yielding, his lips slightly chapped, his breath a warm whisper, and Peter feels his heart sing the same enraptured song it always does when Juno is in his arms. Everything past and everything still ahead of him melts away, and there's only the wondrous present. Juno's hands are tight on the collar of his robe, grasping, clinging, holding on for dear life, and Peter lets his own hands slide higher, brushing over Juno's belly and his ribs until Juno's breath goes uneven with laughter. "Missed this," he confesses, running his fingers through the wave of Peter's hair. "Missed you." 

Peter turns and presses his lips to Juno's palm in response, watches the heat flare in his face with a fond smile. "Oh?" he murmurs, teasingly. 

"Ass," Juno accuses, with a glare, and Peter laughs before pressing his mouth to Juno's throat. He's quite as happy as he's ever been with Juno warm and pliant and close to him, pushing his hips up against Peter's thigh with a soft whine, tangling fingers tight in his hair. Whispering his name, soft as a prayer, like it's still the most precious gift Peter's ever given him, years down the line. 

For a moment the force that pulls Peter back into orbit, that holds his feet to the ground, that ties him to Juno is so strong it makes his head spin. Juno pulse is fluttering against Peter's lips, and he's half laughing and half gasping in Peter's ear. "I missed you too, darling," he admits, and slides his hands up Juno's sides to pull his shirt up--

Juno cries out, and flinches back against the counter, and Peter freezes. "Juno?"

"Damnit," he grumbles, "God damn it, stupid thing still…." And before the worry can really begin to sink its barbed hooks into Peter's brain Juno groans and pulls off his shirt to show Peter what's beneath. 

"Oh, Juno," Peter trills, because he can't help it. "You didn't tell me you'd been making changes of your own while I was away!" Juno wore something _nice_ for him, something soft and pretty in white lace that does more to frame the lovely dark peaks of his nipples than to hide them. And pierced through one of those nipples, visible under the translucent lace, a little silver bar with a bell on each end. Something novel. Juno never does cease to surprise him, even after all this time. "Still tender, is it? Poor thing."

He runs a finger over the lacy cup of the bra, feeling metal catch on the fabric. Juno moans, loud and sudden, and Peter burns hot at the sound of it. He rests his palm flat over Juno's chest and kisses him firmly, sliding his tongue over his palate and bringing his other hand to the nape of his neck to draw him close. 

Juno curses, and grinds down against Peter's thigh, a blush spreading over his dark skin. "Shit, oh my god, please--"

"Please what, Juno?" Peter asks him with a gravelly purr.

"Play with my tits, please, Peter," he begs, and usually it takes more than this to reduce Juno to begging, but Peter's not inclined to squander such a lovely surprise. He catches the raised nub of Juno's nipple with his fingers and pulls at it, and Juno all but screams, shuddering against Peter like he can feel it in every cell of his body. " _Fuck_."

Juno's a vision, panting and moaning in Peter's ear, his cock heavy and hardening where it's pressed against Peter's thigh. He rolls his hips down, and down, eager for more of his touch, and Peter delivers. His lips trail over the line of Juno's jaw, skimming across the hollow of his throat, biting at his collarbones and then teasing at the edge of the lace. It's almost strange to think how badly Peter missed the _taste_ of him.

He scrapes his teeth over one nipple and twists the other between his fingers while Juno provides him with a steady stream of curses and pleas. "Ah--more, Nureyev, Jesus hell, you're gonna kill me," and "Again, do that again--shit, Peter your fucking _mouth_ \--"

Those rough fingers are clutching at his neck, his shoulders, his waist, and Peter catches one of his wrists to pin it to the countertop, presses so close to Juno it feels like the friction between them could power a star, and catches skin and lace between the points of his teeth. Juno shouts, and in his rasping voice it almost sounds like a sob. 

"Oh, Juno," Peter says, with a throaty laugh, recognizing the uneven rhythm of his breathing, "You're going to come just like this, aren't you?" He punctuates the question with another sharp nip, and feels Juno shudder in his arms again, straining and gasping and grinding hard against him. "You desperate little thing. Are you getting close, love?"

Juno stares down at him with his jaw slack and his eye wide and unfocused, sweat beading over his forehead. Peter raises a brow and wraps his lips over the other nipple, the foreign metal cold against his tongue. "Shit," Juno tells him, breathless. "God, Peter--"

"Just so." The fingers of his free hand trace over Juno's chest and wrap around his throat, loosely, the faintest whisper of a caress. "That's it, darling. I've got you." 

And he takes the stiff-swollen peak of the pierced nipple into his mouth again, leaning his weight into Juno so every roll of his hips is answered with a thrust. His thumb finds the hollow of Juno's jaw while he throws his head back, choking on his own gasps, and rides Peter's thigh like slowing for an instant would kill him. 

Peter Nureyev is a covetous animal by nature, and he knows the bright joy of getting something he wants. He knows it at this moment, feeling Juno falter and tremble and come apart with a low, desperate cry. Seeing his chest heave, flushed and bruised and gilded in spit-stained lace. Waiting patiently for him to catch his breath so Peter can pull his swollen lips into his mouth again. A job well done. 

"Peter," Juno mutters against his mouth, "Peter, shit, let me--"

His fingers grope at Peter's groin, brushing aside the robe, and Peter silences him with another kiss. 

"Juno, shh, there will be time for that--"

"--Let me go down on you, please. Want you now," he insists, stubborn, and Peter feels the breath catch in his chest. "Want to peel you out of that robe, kiss you all over. Welcome home present. _Dessert_." 

Peter pulls him close and catches his bottom lip between the points of his teeth. Feels a little like his veins are flooding with fire, burning-hot plasma, starlight. "If the lady insists," he agrees, nearly unable to keep his voice from shaking, "Who am I to refuse?"

And Juno grins, shining with sweat and flushed from head to toe, and sweeps Peter into his arms, catching him at the knees and the small of his back, lifting him like he's still floating in the outer atmosphere, like it's nothing. Peter can't help a fond giggle, burrowing his nose into the crook of Juno's neck, and Juno giggles right back, dizzy with that strange lightheadedness that always strikes the second the two of them lock eyes. 

He sets Peter down on the bed, kicks off his stained trousers and a pair of panties that probably matched that pretty lacy lingerie before, crawls over the mattress on his hands and knees 'til he's straddling Peter's waist and kisses him deep and slow, scarred hands fumbling at the tie of his dressing-gown. 

"Careful, darling, or I might start to think you were pining for me," Peter says with a gasp and a grin, while Juno's lips skim over his neck, down his chest, lower. Juno nips at his side in retaliation, and Peter folds with a yelp. 

"Not too late to make you sleep on the couch," he threatens, but his fingers are already sliding under the waistband of Peter's boxers. "Are these mine?" 

"Naturally. What's mine is yours, and so forth," Peter says, but then Juno's teeth are at the inside of his thigh and he can't remember how to turn his thoughts to coherent phrases, just reaches down to grip Juno's hair and sighs. 

Juno's mouth is warm and wet and eager, and he goes about driving Peter wild with his characteristic relentlessness. His tongue slides over Peter's dick in broad, sweeping strokes, then he sets his lips and sucks, moans quietly against his skin when Peter's hands tighten their grip in his hair, and does it all again. Fast where Peter expects him to be slow and agonizingly slow when he's teetering just on the edge, his feet sliding against the bedsheets and his back arching. "Juno," he gasps, because it's the only sound that will fit in his mouth, "Juno, _Juno_."

One of Juno's hands slides up his side, callused and warm, while the other traces the inside of his thigh, and he laves his tongue over Peter again, groaning, and Peter feels untethered, like the gravity of this planet can't hold him down anymore, like Juno is the only force acting on him in the whole universe. The fire burning in his gut races up his spine, lights up his brain and sends shockwaves down through every nerve in his body, and Juno holds him through it without faltering.

Peter dizzily tries to remember how to think while Juno crawls up to meet him, looking ragged and very pleased with himself. Eventually he settles for pinning him to the mattress and licking the taste of himself from Juno's mouth.

And Peter has spent most of his life living from moment to moment without a care for what the next will bring, but he lives most of all for moments like these, moments when the universe he inhabits is no wider than the space between himself and the man he loves. Most of the time he goes straight from hello to goodbye without a second thought. He's still getting used to reunions. 

"Dinner?" Juno asks sleepily, with his head pillowed on Peter's chest. 

"Let's order in, shall we?" he suggests. "We ought to shower while we wait." 

He looks to Juno for a confirmation, and finds him staring back with a very singular expression on his face. Somewhere between wistful and disbelieving. "Everything alright, love?"

"I, uh…." Juno glances away quickly, searching for the right words in every corner of the room before clearing his throat and admitting, "I'm glad you're home, Peter." 

Peter grins, and then his brain catches up with his ears and his heart seizes in his chest and he thinks, in quick succession: _home_ and _it's only a word, a silly little thing to get so excited over_ and _home_. There's a protracted instant where he can't quite recall how to breathe. The smile falters and drops from his face. 

Juno folds in on himself, all hapless concern with regret shining in his eye. "Shit, Nureyev, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have--"

"Hush," Peter tells him, firmly, and stops his mouth with a kiss. He can feel the gentle lurch of the planet spinning under his feet, and allows himself to think _this is mine_. "I'm happy to be home."

**Author's Note:**

> i noticed i was just writing an unprecedented load of the Angst (tm) so god. fine. here u go have this mess of big gay emotions inspired by vienna teng's "gravity". PLEASE. i dont even know just please.
> 
> uh im on tumblr and twitter @wastrelwoods


End file.
